


we coexist

by eunzos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eunzos/pseuds/eunzos
Summary: Life exists in a spiral, and time is not real. Keith, can you hear me? I need you to find me and bring me home.





	1. Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> This is influenced by the movie Interstellar.
> 
> Please listen to [**this**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDVtMYqUAyw) as you read.
> 
> Written for Sheith Week 2016: Day 1 - Shiro (Hurt/Comfort) + Day 2 - Keith (Together/Alone).

**PART ONE: SPIRAL**

** SHIRO **

_Where am I?_

_Hello? Guys?_ _Can you hear me?_

_This is Shiro._

_Guys? Can you hear me?_

_Pidge? Is that you - Keith? Lance? Hunk! It’s Shiro! I’m here! Answer me! Can you hear . . can you . . . Answer . . me . . ._

—

 

What they don’t tell you at Galaxy Garrison is that life exists in a spiral. It starts with _order_ : we’re born at a certain point - this specific instance - in time; and this point marks our initial beginning. Then throughout our lives, throughout the many years we maneuver our way around planet Earth, around the stars - we create _disorder_. We consume, we leave imprints, and we die — only to be reborn once again, seemingly, without cause.

My spiral starts here: I was born in sunny Phoenix, Arizona to two loving parents and two black, flat-coated retrievers. Dad was a plumber; Mom, a teacher. The five of us — us three and our retrievers — were all inherently fascinated by the rotating dark sky. Every night, after dinner, we would go outside and look up at the stars. By age three, I found Polaris, the Northern star; by five, I was able to identify all visible constellations, every star and every planet in the northern hemisphere.

At six, our two retrievers gave birth to a few pups. We gave most of them away, kept one and named her Beetle.

At seven, Beetle’s parents passed away.

And at eight, Dad left home and never came back.

Mom refused to look up at the night sky after that - said all the stars were starting to blur together, she couldn’t identify them anymore.

When I turned ten, Dad sent me a telescope for my birthday. I was so excited about it - aimed it at Polaris at sunrise and told Mom the stars were clear again. She didn’t touch the telescope, didn't want to, but she did look up, pointing, and say, “Aim it there. That’s Jupiter waving.”

That was the first time I was reborn.

At sixteen, I applied for Galaxy Garrison.

At seventeen, I took the entrance exam and passed.

At eighteen, I rose to the top of my class and met a boy named Keith - a prodigy among the fighter pilots. He was only fifteen at the time, didn’t talk much, didn’t cause much trouble. If he didn’t sit at the front of the class and raise his hand to answer questions no one could even fathom to answer, I wouldn’t have noticed him. (But I’m glad I did. There was something about him. Something special: _A connection, a sense_.)

He saved me once. Fighter pilot simulation, two years later. We made it to Pluto with ease, and just when we thought we were safe, we were attacked. He reacted immediately: drew our ship back, created a distraction, and got us the hell out of there before we took too much damage. “Don’t think, _act_.” That’s what he told me then. The simulation was later revealed as a decisive test: fail and you’d never reach the stars, succeed and you would. We succeeded.

The year following, I was given the opportunity to go explore Kerberos, one of Pluto’s moons. I accepted, thinking this was my chance to finally see what’s out there, to see beyond what my telescope could see. Mom cried when I told her, said that she didn’t want to lose me too (we had lost Beetle earlier that year - I couldn’t go home in time to bury her). Keith didn’t want me to go either; he grabbed me by the arm one night, whispered, “Don’t.” I almost didn’t go. It was as if the universe had turned its head, telling me to stay, _stay_.

But I went.

And my spiral began again.

 

—

 

Home.

I want to go home.

I know I’m supposed to stay and fight, I know I’m supposed to defend this universe - but I’m getting tired, and I want to go home.

But how?

Where am I?

Where is everyone else?

The wormhole separated us. I can’t find them, I can’t find ground. I’m floating in space, I’m among the stars. Mom, I’m sorry, I can’t come home yet; but maybe - just maybe - if you aim the telescope up, you’ll see me waving at you: God of the sky, a million miles out.

 

—

 

I’ve found him.

I’ve found Keith - in that beaten up shack, out in the desert, far from society.

_Listen to me, Keith._

_I’m here._

_Can you hear me?_

_I need you to find me and bring me home_.

 

—

 

Patience yields focus.

I don’t know how long it’s been — days, months, years — but I’ve finally found it: a flaw in the universe, a hole in the spiral.

The blue lion is on planet Earth.

_Keith, can you feel it?_

_I’m here._

_Come find me._

_Take me home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith's corresponding part will be posted tomorrow for Day 2 (Together/Alone). Thank you for reading! (+:


	2. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to [**this**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDVtMYqUAyw) as you read.
> 
> Written for Sheith Week 2016: Day 1 - Shiro (Hurt/Comfort) + Day 2 - Keith (Together/Alone).

**PART TWO: TIME**

**KEITH**

What they don’t tell you at Galaxy Garrison is that time is not real. They’re always lying, feeding us “there’s no time to slack off” and “time is running out.” I believed them for a while - worked my ass off to become one of the best so I could be up there, among the extraterrestrials in the night sky. But then I realized there’s no point. Space is timeless, _measureless_ , and stars are infinite: They will wait for me.

If time _does_ exist in some form, it’s subjective. Some days are short, some long. I’ve had a couple of short days - good ones, I guess - but most are long. They disappeared when I was five. Pilot error, they told Gran. She believed them, I didn’t. The days were long then, but they grew shorter: at seven, I felt something strange. I didn’t know what it was, but it drew me to the boxes, neatly packed, in the attic. Dad’s books, Mom’s studies. They had diagrams, love letters to the God of the sky — and a promise to never come back.

When I was thirteen, I applied for Galaxy Garrison.

When I was fourteen, I took the entrance exam and passed with a perfect score (in one of Dad’s books was a note - _To my future son: The stars are brighter up close_ ).

When I was fifteen, I rose to the top of my class and met Shiro for the first time. He talked too much, caused a lot of trouble - sat near the back of the class with his buddies, and all of them were stupid. Once he asked if I wanted to study with him, I told him no — but ended up going anyway (he’s the only one that hadn’t scoffed at me for being in an upper-level class). After that, days got shorter and shorter.

I was sixteen, then I was seventeen, eighteen; and I couldn’t fathom why March 28 kept passing - until he pulled me aside one day to tell me he was leaving planet Earth for the stars.

An expedition, far away, to Pluto.

I wanted longer days with him, I wanted more _time_.

He, who saw me beyond my studies.

He, who recognized my potential, my sense.

At that point, I chose to believe in time so I could slow it down. I dwelled on the words he spoke of me, _to_ me (patience yields focus, patience yields focus) - I watched him from behind, my outstretched hand always falling a few inches short. And the night before his departure, I caught him, his arm, and told him, “Don’t.”

Don’t go.

(Without me.)

But he went.

And time stopped.

 

—

 

I’ve found home in a beaten up shack, out in the desert, far from society (in one of Mom’s notebooks was a letter - _Jupiter is brightest here: 39°45’N, 104°52’W_ ). I don’t know how long it’s been since he went missing, since _they_ went missing — could’ve been days, months, years — but no matter: Time is irrelevant.

But then, it happens.

_Can you hear me?_

A calling.

_Can you feel it?_

Energy.

The universe is telling me something, and it’s pointing me in a certain direction - where is it? _What_ is it?

Days become short again.

Time now exists.

 _I’m here_.

I feel you.

You’ve returned.

 

—

 

“It’s like something - some energy - was telling me to search. I didn’t really know what I was looking for until I stumbled across these caves covered in these ancient markings. They seemed to lead up to some event, some arrival — then you showed up.”

_This doesn’t feel right._

_There’s something else out there, waiting for me._

A sense.

(Don’t think.)

“I noticed the repeating series of numbers look a lot like Fraunhofer line. The wavelength kinda looks like this —”

A match.

(Act.)

_I feel it - this connection._

“Let’s go.”

_I need to find it._

_Bring it home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read [**this post**](http://neruas.tumblr.com/post/152216774730/) for a better understanding of this fic. (+:
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
